War Story
by ODST 357
Summary: From the Imperial perspective, an Imperial Army Soldier named Derek Hesh. An Imperial Soldier is caught in the coverup of the Duna City massacre, and finds himself to be a wanted man by both sides.
1. Beach Head

Before I start out, I do not own anything in this story except for Derek Hesh, and am not affiliated with Lucasfilm in anyway, no matter how much I would like to be!

The small group crouched around a map of the city, and the group's leader finished up his speech. "Are we all in agreement then? First Duna City, then Sarva VI, then Coruscant!" The assembled members of the Rebel Alliance cheered, and the charismatic man nodded. "Very good. Go back to your cells, and inform them of what is to happen. May the Force be with us all."

* * *

Colonel Watts of the Imperial Army sat in the cockpit of his Chariot LAV, directing the battle unfolding before his very eyes. Who could have guessed that the Rebels had a significant enough presence on Sarva VI to mount an uprising in Duna City, that capitol for Force's sake! He pressed his finger lightly on the holographic map before him and a the gray helmeted face of an Imperial field commander flashed into view. "Yes sir?" Watts spoke quickly. "Are the coastal invasion procedures complete?" The face nodded. "Yes sir, we have three divisions of regular army soldiers on barges ready to make the landing on the Duna coastline. The Rebs have artillery batteries all around the city, so we are expectation light to medium losses of the ships if we don't wait for the _Suppression__'s_ TIE bombers to soften up the Rebel fortifications on the coast." Watts frowned. "We have no time. The _Suppression _is not due in-system for another standard week, at least, and the rebels have already owned the damned city for three days. If we strike now, before they are fully prepared, we should stand a decent chance of winning without any outside help. Do what you can with the TIE Fighters from Garrison Base Beta, and I'll have Base Gamma fly a few sorties as well. Alpha's TIE's are out of the picture; we can't risk losing any to Rebel anti aircraft guns. Besides, I need them for the land assault on Duna's front." The holographic figure saluted. "Understood sir." Watts returned the salute. "Good luck commander."

The Imperial ships left Garrison Base Beta and took a quick hop across the Jaku River, covered by a thin screen of TIEs. They reached the coast in half an hour, with fully quarter of their number having been destroyed, immobilized, or otherwise taken out of the fight by rebel artillery. Once the troops hit the coast, however, the real fun began.

Pvt. Derek Hesh ran across the war torn field, clutching an E-11 and crouching to fire in the general direction of the enemy every few seconds. His dull grey helmet fell off when he tuck-rolled into a shell crater; the damn Rebels had found an old supply stash of artillery from several hundred years ago, and were using it to great effect against the Imperial troops. Derek still couldn't believe he had managed to stay alive this long. They were supposed to be putting down an insurrection of leaderless teenagers with sporting blasters. That's why the regular army was here, not the storm troopers the Emperor loved so dearly.

Derek stuck his head out of the hole and ripped off a three round burst before he attracted the attention of a Rebel sniper. A yellow beam flashed through the air, burning his hair and taking a chip out of his ear. The wound instantly cauterized because of the extreme heat of the beam, and Derek popped back into his hole. An artillery round thudded to the earth a few yards away, and a blood drenched rocket launcher, severed hand still clutching the grip tightly, landed next to him in the blackened hole. He pulled the hand off, and brought the launcher to bear on a Rebel bunker. The launcher kicked sharply, and the bunker exploded in a gout of flame. He set the spent weapon aside, and ran toward the smoking bunker, putting two rounds in the chest of an unfortunate rebel who happened to pop out at an inopportune moment, for him anyway. Derek stepped through the gaping hole in the permacrete, and saw the smoking remains of an E-Web, and it's three man crew. Clearly these were not leaderless teenagers if they had access to equipment such as this. He kicked one of the bodies, and grabbed a handful of grenades from a crate in the back of the bunker. He heard a faint whistling as he stepped toward the bunker door, intending to go out into the rebel trench lines. Nope, clearly not just teenagers.

* * *

He woke up on a litter, the scowling faceplate and gleaming white and red armor of a Stormtrooper medic staring him in the face. He tried to lift his arms, but the one of the orderlies pushed him back down. "Soldier, thank your lucky stars that the rebels build better bunkers than we all think. We found you under a block of permacrete. I don't know if you'll be able to walk again, your legs were pretty well crushed. The docs behind the lines are gonna do their best. They brought in a SWIFT (**S**urgical **W**ard, **I**ntense **F**orward** T**reatment) and they're the best there. They really know their stuff." The medic kept babbling about how he would be okay, and how if it came to his legs having to be amputated, that today's prosthetics were top of the line, and hardly felt like droid legs. Derek tuned him out, until he remembered something. "Did we take the city?" He whispered. The medic nodded. "Once the _Suppression_ arrived in system, the ground commander, Colonel something, called for an orbital strike and the city was obliterated just like that. That thing that knocked you out was Rebel artillery though, no one could survive an orbital bombardment. The city is just a molten crater now." Derek leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking about all that had happened today.

His ship had been among the last to hit the beach, so he landed with the AT-STs and Juggernaughts as part of their infantry screen. For that he was thankful. The sand was no longer white. It had turned a sickly brown color, with all of the dried blood and other bodily fluids, both rebel and Imperial, that had soaked into the ground. He hitched a ride to the front on a Juggernaught, and therefore got the most unwanted job in the Imperial Army; Tower Sentry. Those damn rolling slabs had these stupid twenty foot tall towers on them, which supposedly a sniper or something would sit in and pick off hapless buffoons or act as an artillery spotter or some shit like that, but it never worked out like that. Because, if you can see them, they can see you. And you have just about the best view ever when you're up their, so naturally you're the target of rockets, beam rifles, and just about every new recruit looking for an easy kill. Thank god for the E-Web this crew had mounted up their. Illegally of course, because according to the army, mounting weapons in one of those towers made you a target. Wait, _what?_ Like you're not a target when you're in a twenty foot tall tower, with wafer thin armor an ion pistol can punch through, and armed with an E-11 and a pair of binoculars? There's enough hole's in that logic to fly the Imperial Starfleet through.

Derek stopped his mental rant, and tried to rerail his train of thought. He had spent 2 hours of sheer terror in that stupid tower, and then when they reach the forward CP, the crew made him get out, so they could put a trained spotter up their and use the tower for a place to call in airstrikes. Fine by him. So he got out and was ordered to assault the rebel bunker complex by some over-eager Lieutenant, and that's how he ended up on a stretcher, with two broken legs, headed for a SWIFT to see if he would ever walk again. Yeah, that pretty much covered it.


	2. You're Going to Do What?

The shuttle carrying Derek to the SWIFT touched down on the base's solitary landing pad in the evening. Grey clad soldiers were busy pouring a permacrete mould for the next one, and bright yellow tents stood all over the compound, men in turquoise scrubs moving in and out of them amidst the screams of wounded soldiers. Derek's litter was unloaded quickly and taken to the triage site, a large hole in the ground with durasteel walls surrounding it in case of an enemy attack. After all, this whole base was only ten clicks behind the front lines. He awoke as a medic was prodding his legs, checking to see what kind of wound it was. "Doctor!" the man shouted. "This guy has two broken legs; the dropship pilots tell me a bunker fell on him." A man in scrubs ran over, a blue surgical helmet dangling from his belt. "All right, I'll take this guy and try to save his legs. Prep him for Tent 17." The medic nodded. "Yes sir!" Derek felt himself rising, and one of the men carrying his litter was talking to him. "That was Captain Bex. He's a surgeon." "Yeah, I gathered that." Whispered Derek. The man laughed. "All right Private…" He pulled out a scanner and swiped the ID chips in Derek's neck. "Hesh. I'm taking you to our Pre-Op room. We'll get you changed into some scrubs, put you on a gurney, and wheel you over to Tent 17. Captain Bex will take it from there." "Don't you need to clean me up or something?" Derek asked, waving his hand toward his mud caked uniform. The man pushed his hand to his side. "You'll be disinfected upon arrival to the surgical ward, in this case Tent 17. They use some sort of mist to do it, so that your wound doesn't get infected." Derek nodded.

They entered a large orange tent, and Derek could see dozens of other patients in various forms of surgical preparation. Tanks of fluid were lined up against the walls of the tent, and computer screens displayed the vitals of each individual patient. Derek felt a prick as an blue clad orderly stuck and IV into him, and he saw a computer screen a few feet away blink to life, displaying his life signs. Medics in scrubs rushed around like bugs, tending to each patient to make sure they were as stable as possible before sending them off to their assigned surgical tent. He saw all sorts of wounds. One guy was slick with crimson from what appeared to be a chest wound, another was missing an arm. He saw guys black with burn wounds, guys who were still wearing pieces of body armor (Apparently the Stormtroopers had arrived by now) and some guys who looked like nothing at all was wrong with them. They scared Derek more than the burn cases or the guy with the sucking chest wound, because they just curled up in a ball and seemed oblivious to the fact that people were screaming and dying around them. He shuddered and shook his head, trying to banish the image of them from his head. He pressed the back of his head into the cot, and fell asleep.

* * *

Derek was shaken awake when his gurney (Apparently he had been moved from the litter to a gurney while he was asleep.) was pushed out of the Pre-Op building and across the compound. He stared into the sky and saw a flight of TIE bombers, in a tight V formation, shoot across the sky toward the city. He reached out and tugged one of the orderly's sleeves. "What are they doing?" he said, pointing the gunmetal grey ships disappearing over the horizon. The man shrugged, obviously not caring enough to waste his breath on a seemingly stupid question like, "What is are those fighters doing?" Derek however, continued to pepper the man with questions. "Why are they flying in the direction of the city? I though that we called in a BDZ on the whole damn city! What do they need a flight of bombers for?" The man sighed, and after assuring Derek that he had no idea what the hell he was talking about, ordered him to lay down so that he wouldn't do any more damage to his legs. Derek sighed, and lay back into the meager pillow sewn into the gurney. He shut his eyes, but the orderly told him to stay awake, because the anesthesiologist needed him to be awake to receive the sleeping gas._ Okay, whatever._ He thought, and opened his eyes just in time to see what looked like a jet black triangle in the sky. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. 

As he was wheeled inside the yellow tent, a man wearing scrubs and a surgical helmet approached him with a large syringe. A glowing green liquid was inside. Derek pulled back as the man stabbed it in his arm, and he heard him say something like, "Don't worry Private, it will only hurt a lot." as a dark blackness slowly swam into view.

* * *

Sorry about the short chapter, but I just changed the whole premise of this thing from a simple war story to a conspiracy riddled drama. So, this is crucial, but short, chapter. 


	3. Proton Torpedoes

Captain Danka of the Rebel Alliance's Air Corp ran across the deckplates toward his Y-Wing bomber. The Imps had set up a torture camp a few miles outside of Duna City, and were systematically executing witnesses to the Duna City Massacre there, under the guise of a medical camp. He was to lead a flight of bombers that would blow this camp up and save all of the soldiers and civilians who were being killed there. Command had been reluctant to do this, but once they heard the Empire was executing civilians too, they gave the go-ahead.

He climbed the ladder and jumped into the cockpit, nodding to his bombardier, Lieutenant Frisk.

"We ready Captain?" Frisk asked.

"Just about. I'm going through the final pre-flight check, and the ground crew needs to cut us loose." He said, waving his hand to the thick fuel hoses sticking out of the Y-Wing's engines.

"System check complete. What kind of bombs are we using Frisk?"

"I selected High Yield Incendiaries for this mission, because if they are gassing people down there, we don't want that shit in the atmosphere."

"Nice. We're good to go Fisk." Danka tapped his helmet, activating the built in mike. "This is Awken Leader, I'm flight ready."

"Roger that. We are opening the magnetic field."

The shimmering blue field guarding the flight hanger from the deadly vacuum of space flexed and disappeared, allowing the Y-Wing to leave the hanger.

"This is Awken Leader, I've hit the black."

"Roger that Lead, Awkens 2-9 are in formation at the rendezvous point and awaiting your go-ahead."

"Copy that."

Danka's Y-Wing streaked across space toward the rendezvous point above the Rebel frigate _Republic's Spirit_. He saw five Y-Wings and their four X-Wing escorts floating in space, awaiting his command to bomb the target.

"Awken Flight, this is Awken Leader, I'm joining the formation. All ships report in."

"Awken 2 standing by."

"Awken 3 is good to go."

"Awken 4 is mission capable sir."

"Awken 5 awaits your orders."

"Awken Escort Leader here, ready to go."

"Awken Escort 7, ready to kick some ass!"

"Awken Escort 8, finger on the trigger sir!"

"Awken Escort 9 is combat ready."

"This is Awken leader, let's stay professional 7."

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

"All right, we're good. Command, Awken Flight is mission ready."

"Roger that. Godspeed."

The fighters sped off toward the planet, leaving the _Spirit_ behind. Danka could see the infamous triangle shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer on his ship's scanner.

"Awken flight, I'm picking up an Imp Destroyer. We're gonna need to go dark, so it doesn't pick us up."

"Roger that lead."

The engines of the fighters flickered out and they drifted slowly toward the planet, using small puffs from their sublight engines to guide them closer to the planet.

Danka watched the screen nervously, hoping the ship wouldn't pick them up.

The triangle representing the ship never moved, but he did see two small dots with TIE tags start moving away from the ship, in their direction.

"Awken flight, full power to engines! I'm picking up two TIEs and they're headed straight toward us! Move!"

A brilliant blue light stormed from the ship's engines and the fighters shot forward toward the surface.

* * *

Ensign Fuller of the Imperial Navy ran toward Captain Dex clutching a sheaf of computer printouts.

"Captain! The scanners are detecting 10 rebel ships headed to the surface!"

"What is their projected course Ensign?"

"According to the computer, the SWIFT that was set up near Duna City. We think they're going to bomb it."

"Hmm…those Rebels speak of self righteousness and human rights, but they're going to bomb a hospital? Be sure to send this to the ISB, I'm sure they would like to be able to use this in some Anti-Rebel propaganda. Good work Ensign. Inform Major Dirkens of the ISB that there is some enemy movement onscreen he may want to take a look at."

Fuller looked up and saw the projected bombing run of the Rebel fighters on the main screen.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

* * *

Captain Danka steered his fighter through the clouds, admiring the view out his cockpit bubble. Suddenly, a laser bolt ripped through the air and blew an S foil off of the X-Wing flying next to him.

"This is Awken Escort 8, I've lost my third foil."

"Can you still fly?" inquired Danka

"Yes sir, but I'll have to keep my wings closed. I really won't be of any use to you."

Danka considered it. "All right. Pull out and head back the the _Spirit_."

He saw the X-Wing peel off of the formation, trailing smoke from its broken wing.

"Yes sir. Awken Escort 8 has left formation." he said

Danka keyed his mike. "Command, this is Awken leader, be aware that Awken Escort 8 has left the formation and is heading back to the _Spirit_ due to a damaged S-Foil."

"Roger that Awken Lead."

Frisk tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey sir?" He asked, "Why only one shot?"

"Hmm?"

"I said, why did the Imps only take one shot?"

Danka snapped his head up.

"Awken Flight, take evasive action, Ack-Ack pattern Gamma!" He screamed into his radio.

The fighters all shot in different directions, eventually coming to rest in a constantly shifting pattern that kept the X-Wings on the outside and the Y-Wings on the inside.

"Awken Lead, this is Command, what is going on?"

"The S-Foil, it was damaged by Anti-Aircraft fire!"

"Copy that, but our charts show no Imperial Anti Aircraft batteries in your area."

"I don't know what to tell you command, but its there."

"All right, we'll keep an eye out."

The ships continued their evasive patterns for an hour, until Danka ordered them stopped because he was afraid they wouldn't have enough fuel to get home if they kept taxing the engines like that.

"Awken Flight, this is Awken Lead. We're coming up on the target zone."

"Okay Lead, we'll fly a strafing run on the target and then you can blow them to Kessel!"

"Sounds good Escort Lead."

The three X-Wings split off and their cannons blazed death on the Imperial camp. Danka saw the red bolts stitching lines in the dirt, swallowing anyone who happened to be unlucky enough to get in their way. Finally, the X-Wings pulled up.

"It's all clear Awken Leader."

Danka shoved the joystick down, hard, and the Y-Wing nosedived toward the ground at over 200 mph. He pulled out of the dive and shot across the blood red plains, blowing chunks out of the ground with his nose mounted cannons.

"Do your thing Frisk!" he screamed over the roar of the engines, noting in the back of his head that he'd have to talk to the ground crew about the soundproofing in the cockpit.

"Wait for it… wait for it…" Frisk muttered, his face partially obscured by the boxy targeting computer in front of his head.

"Now!" he yelled, mashing his thumbs on the bomb-release yoke, and Danka pulled up slightly, bringing the Y-Wing above the explosive ceiling. Eight proton torpedoes shot out of the tubes mounted on the bottom of the fighter, and rocketed toward the base. They detonated in a flash of white. Danka had been trained not to stare at the explosion from a bombing run, because it could throw off his pilot's eye, but Frisk whooped as the main compound building, marked with red diamonds that supposedly meant a medical facility, exploded. Both men's visor's polarized to compensate for the sudden change in light, and Danka gritted his teeth as he steered the ship away from the blast. Even so, the left engine was seared by the intense heat, blackening the baffles and causing the starfighter to groan as the armor plating on the engine warped.

"Cutting it a little close there aren't we sir?" Frisk said, half-jokingly.

"I was gonna say the same thing to you Lieutenant!" Danka muttered, his teeth still mashed together from the intense concentration of piloting a ship at speeds upwards of 1,000 mph and not hitting anything.

Frisk laughed and tapped his mike. "This is Awken Flight, bombing run is complete, we're heading home!"

The ships fell back into formation and streaked toward the _Spirit_, confidant they had played a key role in crippling the Empire on Sarva VI.

* * *

**Okay, so I finally got this finished and posted, sorry about the long delay. I had a serious case of writer's block as to how to tell this next part.**


End file.
